


It Ain’t What They Call You, It’s What You Answer To

by threecoursedessert



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Gratuitous Firefly Reference, Pre-Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-21 14:00:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17045051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threecoursedessert/pseuds/threecoursedessert
Summary: Han ruminates on nicknames.





	It Ain’t What They Call You, It’s What You Answer To

“And how long will you be gone, Captain?”

She was calling him ‘Captain.’ Shit. That was a bad sign. On a good day, the rare good day when they got along and joked and everything felt natural and easy, she used a simple 'Han’ or maybe she’d throw in the occasional 'idiot.’ But 'idiot’ with a certain small laugh that tripped off her tongue when she said it. He hadn’t heard it often, but it was nice. The kind of 'idiot’ he wouldn’t mind getting used to.

Once, and only once, she had called him, to his face mind you, 'tightpants.’ She’d only slightly slurred, still kept it dignified. In her defense, the entire base had been celebrating and getting loaded that night. As a member of said base, she had felt inclined to drink one too many Corellian whiskeys. For her, that wasn’t even that much, definitely less than anyone else that night. But once you factor in her body mass index relative to the average serving of whiskey it was enough to say things you would regret to people you’d regret hearing them. Like the aforementioned 'tightpants’. Thankfully she didn’t remember this incident at all. But he remembers. Entirely too well, the way one would remember any pivotal moment in their life when their perception of reality was shifted slightly, but significantly and permanently. He hasn’t pressed the matter. But don’t think he’s forgotten.

But on an average day, and when inebriation wasn’t a factor, there was a sliding scale of terms she used, ranging from meaningless to mildly insulting. It was fine, generally, it’s what he deserved. It’s not like he didn’t dish it out himself. 'Flyboy’ wasn’t even actually derogatory, as far as he could tell. He was old enough to be more mildly flattered than injured by anything that ended with 'boy’. Luke was the one who would sulk when anyone referred to the kid as a boy. His dignity was pretty fragile for a big rebel hero.

For mild annoyances and when she was about to lose her temper, it was a curt, clipped 'hot shot’. She had once used 'moon jockey’ with particular vitriol but if he was supposed to be offended, that wasn’t gonna cut it. 'Moon jockey’ must’ve been a real killer insult on Alderaan that never spread off-planet on account of sounding ridiculous when said out loud. But 'laser brain’ hurt a little, if he was being completely honest.

In situations of extreme danger or peril, she reverts to 'Han.’ But a low, breathless kind of 'Han’ that sounds younger, vulnerable. The way a 21-year old woman would say your name when she’s not also… Leia. Royalty. Experienced in ordering squadrons around, holding her own against top generals, and being a voice of decisiveness within the rebellion. Those moments have been rare - though more frequent than either of them would like. Fear has a way of stripping away all those defenses, shields, and titles, leaving you open and raw.

But 'Captain’ she reserved for some emotion that went beyond annoyed. Or scared. 'Captain’ was a seven letter word for 'stranger.’ It was cool, impersonal. It didn’t so much roll off her tongue, but rather snap. It was as precisely aimed and definitive as a blaster shot. His 'your highness’s and 'your worshipfulness’s withered and died up against 'Captain.’

She somehow managed to look down at him, cool and regal, from twelve inches under him. It was maddening. Mostly because he couldn’t retaliate. They were usually equally matched. Equally spirited, equally stubborn. It’s what made it fun, their whole dynamic. But here she had the upper hand, with her years of royal breeding and her own innate Leia-ness. She could be a helluva sabacc player with that demeanor. Sure, he could square his jaw and do his best to match her detached manner. But he’s not fooling anyone when he tries it. He’d always won at sabacc by leaning into his charm, becoming if anything, warmer and friendlier.

So here they stood. Han, focusing on unlocking the mystery that was the princess’s many moods. And also how to convince her to let him teach her sabacc some time soon. And Leia, already displeased and now increasingly impatient as she waited for Han to snap out of his reverie and answer her. “It wasn’t meant to be a trick question. Will you be back in time for the mission to the Lothal sector or not?”

“What? Yeah, I mean. No. Doubtful. Dodonna’s got us running jobs up and down the damned galaxy. After picking up equipment on Crait, we gotta make a stop near the Outer Rim for supplies. Antilles can get you out to the Lothal sector if I’m not back in time.”

“You know Wedge is already busy training new recruits.”

“I thought you’d be happy to see me taking orders from Dodonna, Your Worship. Being the Rebellion’s ace errand boy.”

“I’d be happy knowing I can count on you to keep your word, Captain.” Doubling down on 'captain.’ Double shit.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he shrugs. “Dodonna pulled rank. You know I’d rather keep you company on Lothal if it were up to me.”

'Your Worship’ and his favorite of its variants, 'Your Highnessness’ and 'Your Royalness’ are slowly phasing out of his vocabulary. Okay, he said it just then, seventeen seconds ago. But he was improving really, occasional hiccup aside. For one thing, he’d only ever said them to rile her up. After a while, she had built up a resistance, instead remaining firmly un-riled. Which actually riled _him_ up a bit, since he’d prided himself on his ability to consistently get a reaction from her.

Secondly, Luke had made a comment after witnessing their 128th altercation, give or take a spat, that had stuck with him. _"Han, I dunno if you’re making the scathing point you think you are.” He’d lowered his voice in a weak attempt to imitate Han’s voice. Really, just a terrible impersonation. “'I don’t care that you’re a princess – actual, literal royalty – and I’ll prove it by bringing it up constantly.’”_

_“Well of course it doesn’t make sense if you say it like that. Or with that voice.”_

_“You could be nicer to her is all.”_

_“And she could be nicer to me. And you could be nicer to stormtroopers.  And the emperor could be nicer to the Rebellion. I think you’re onto something, kid. This 'being nice’ scheme’s gonna really take off. Go tell Rieeken about it and we can get this war over by tomorrow."_

Luke had laughed and changed the subject, but point taken.

Saying just 'Leia’ would seem like the natural evolution of their communication. But it was a bold move. Direct and intimate. He didn’t try to call her by her name too often. It was reserved for those rare good days when they were too happy to remember to fight. There had definitely been a 'Leia’ or two right after the Death Star. It also tended to tumble out of him on the bad days. Days that involved memorial services for fallen rebels. Days when yet another Alderaanian would appear from whatever corner of the galaxy they’d been seeking refuge in. They sought Leia out, their princess and fellow survivor. They all brought with them a storm of emotion that crashed on Leia’s shore, always leaving her a bit more broken than they had found her. On those days, calling Leia by her name is the closest he can come to reaching out to her as he longs to, dropping this bantha shit game they continue to play.

But most days it’s been easier to go straight to sneaking in terms of endearment, flying them under the radar by saying them the way he’d spit out any other insult. Eventually, if he calls her 'sweetheart’ enough times in the heat of a fight, she’ll let him get away with just saying it normally. And then… he wins? He hasn’t actually thought it through. It’s more just a thing he’s trying out and seeing how far she lets him take it.

Today, for example, it looks like it’s gonna take him as far as the Lothal sector. She sighs, "I’ll get you reassigned. There are other ships that can handle routine supply runs." 

She doesn’t come out and say she wants him on her mission, wants him around if and when things go south. He knows she’d sooner eat raw tauntaun than actually say she trusts him. Likes him. But as she stomps off towards the command room, she calls out behind her. "And Solo, don’t try to weasel out of my mission next time." 

'Solo’ is a new one from her, her voice a perfect balance of annoyed and amused. He’ll consider it progress.  

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout to Firefly and that deleted ESB scene for some of these names :D


End file.
